Date: Sun, 18 Apr 2010 21:09:46 -0400 (EDT)
From: Clark Building
Subject: Short trip to Europe
Brief trip to Europe back in the seventies, February, off-season,
cold. Landed in Amsterdam, fled south on train to avoid freezing, train to
Milan, Italy. One night there, tried to hitch a ride further south. Train
again, on to Rome. Hitching was not going to be a good travel method and
getting jobs, which was the plan, was not going well either. My optimistic
friend, Darryl, had talked me into a no-money needed tour of Europe on a
spur-of-the-minute lark. We would stay in youth hostels for hardly any
money, which was our budgeted means, hardly any money. So fine, we would
do without, make do, get by, be tough, go hungry, whatever. We walked all
over Rome and into the hostel at sundown. They only manned the desk for
one hour to check in and then we were locked in for the night. If we went
out after check-in, we had to stay out all night, no re-entry. The building
was a 1932 Olympics dorm with all the marble removed from the walls, inside
and out, solid, but unsightly. Also, no heat and cold water only. Showers
were short. They did provide towels and a Continental breakfast of coffee
and a roll with a little oatmeal. Had that Chocolate-Hazelnut spread for
the roll, which was a hard Italian thing, very chooey and tough. Not much,
but delicious when you are hungry.
Third night in Rome, Darryl went out early to photograph something in the
morning light, I opted for more sleep. Darryl and I were the only guests
in the huge open dormitory, took cots next to the back wall, seemed warmer
there. Less drafty anyway. I was slowly awakening after being deeply
unconscious, heard footsteps approaching, assumed it was Darryl, back from
his mission. The footsteps echoed in the dorm, concrete floor and walls,
with rows of army cots, no real beds. The footsteps came down our row and
stopped by my cot, my back turned, I thought nothing of it, at first.
I rolled over and opened my eyes and my mouth, started to say, "good
morning" to Darryl, but it was not him. There was a guy standing over me.
A big guy I recognized as someone employed by the hostel, seen before
helping in the kitchen where breakfast, such as it was, was dispensed
cafeteria style on metal trays with plastic dishes and utensils. He was
just looking down at me, rather menacing in his manner. No smile or
greeting until, as a gesture of his intentions, he began to unbuckle his
pants. Had he been back a little, closer to the cot behind him, I would
have surmised that he intended to lie down for awhile. But he was up close
and personal, inches from my face, with his trousers suddenly down around
his ankles and hooking his thumbs in the elastic of his boxer shorts, he
presented me with his genitals. Big genitals, to be sure. He stepped out
of his pants, kicked away his shorts, and came at me. Eyes big, I just lay
there and watched it happen.
I was, I suppose, surprised. I remember not expecting that to happen. I
remember not having much time to consider it, or anything else, before he
swung a leg over my cot and straddled my head, aiming his stiffening penis
at my mouth, still agape, still trying to say, "good morning." Instead of
anything coming out of my mouth, he was in. He was fast and smooth about
it, pulling back his foreskin as he slipped it between my lips, all at
once, kinda. I don't recall any real protest by me, and nothing but a sigh
of satisfaction from him as he began to fuck my face and I began to swirl
my tongue over the smooth, firm head of his cock. "American cocksuckers
love Italian Sausage," he chuckled. I was not prepared to be offended, nor
did I have any impulse to take issue. How he knew I would do the nasty
thing for him, I cannot say. But, boy, did he have me pegged. Even though
I was Darryl's bitch, back home, we had agreed to be very straight acting
in Italy to avoid trouble. I was certain that we had never shown any overt
physicality in or near the hostel. But somehow the guy knew he could do
me, if Darryl was not around. He later gave me Darryl's breakfast in the
kitchen, to go with the big mouthful of cum that I ate earlier in the dorm.
The last night we were there, the guy woke me in the middle of the night
and we coupled in the office, where I ate his sausage again. Good Italian
stuff.